Chapter 50 Sharp Edges

The room was silent except for Sharpy’s ragged breathing and the faint hum of the TV still playing in the background. My hand was buried in her chest, intangible enough not to kill her, solid enough to remind her how fragile her heart really was.

“Where do we start?” I asked, my tone deceptively playful and teasing.

The crack of the shotgun split through the apartment like thunder. Splinters burst from the door as Onyx fired again, the buckshot whistling past Sharpy’s ear and punching clean through the wood. She leaned close to the fresh hole she created and whispered with a honeyed sweetness that belied the violence in her grin.

“Sweetie,” Onyx crooned, her voice sharp and dangerously amused, “how about we ask her how she found us?”

I tilted my head, considering, before replying with a calmness that could’ve frozen the air between us. “A fine suggestion.”

The door was almost intact, save for the fist-sized hole still steaming with the scent of scorched wood and gunpowder. Onyx’s silver-dark hair spilled over her shoulder as she peered through the jagged opening, winking at me with a look that was far too flirtatious for the situation. So cheeky.

Sharpy, despite the bead of sweat running down her temple, still had the audacity to throw a quip. “Cute girlfriend,” she said hoarsely, though her voice trembled around the edges.

I didn’t smile. The tips of my fingers solidified, pressing harder against the steady thrum of her heart. Her body jolted in my grasp, the reality of how close she was to death settling in her bones. I leaned in until my voice ghosted her ear, cold and sharp as broken glass.

“Why are you here,” I whispered, my tone low and venom-laced, “how did you find me, and most importantly…” My fingers flexed, tightening just enough to make her gasp. “… why do you want to die so badly?”

“Come on,” Sharpy said, her voice strained but still carrying that false bravado, “what need is there for violence between friends? Whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t the case at all. I came here as a friend… a visit.”

Onyx snorted from behind the door, the barrel of her shotgun peeking through the splintered hole. “She lies through her teeth.”

I tilted my head, staring into those wild eyes behind the jagged grin of her mask. “Resorting to gaslighting now? How far have you fallen?”

“Oh, get this,” Onyx drawled, her voice dripping with mocking sweetness. “She thinks you’re just a gullible child.”

Sharpy stiffened, her eyes darting sharply toward Onyx’s voice. “Great,” she muttered. “A telepath.”

Not exactly, I thought. To be specific, an Empath-4 and Telepath-2, but she didn’t need to know that. Let her keep guessing. Fear was leverage.

“Talk,” I demanded, my voice a quiet, lethal edge. My fingers solidified further, squeezing just enough to make her tremble.

She broke faster than I expected. “Pride sent me,” she hissed, her tone raw, stripped of that earlier bravado. “It’s a job. They don’t trust you… or anyone else, for that matter. In order to earn their good graces back, I’m doing this for them.”

“And why exactly did they choose you?” I asked coldly.

“Because…” She winced as my grip tightened around her heart, her words shaky but honest. “…I got plausible deniability. I wasn’t there when Royal died, remember? They suspect foul play of Royal’s death, and guess what? You are suspect no. 1.”

I grimaced. I never imagined Pride would flip on me like this. Did they find something incriminating? No, they were ‘cleaning’ up, and not exactly hunting for Royal’s murderer. For all they knew and cared, Lion King was Royal’s murderer.

As for how Sharpy tracked me? That part didn’t take a genius to figure out. Pride had seen my face. A few of their low-level thugs caught my likeness. With their resources, putting a name, an address, and a neat little package together would have been child’s play. I was burned. Completely.

Sharpy swallowed hard, trying for a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So… can you finally let me go?”

I tilted my head, a cold calm settling over me like ice water. “But you’ve seen my face already.”

The pressure of my hand increased. She gasped sharply, panic flashing across her features as her fingers clawed at me in desperation, but every swipe passed harmlessly through my intangible form. Her eyes widened as the realization hit… There was no escape unless I allowed it.

Sharpy thrashed under me, desperate, clawing at the ground, at my arms, at anything she could reach, but it was pointless. I shoved her down, standing above her, my shadow cast over her prone body. Her fingers blurred, nails glowing with blinding light as she slashed wildly. Jagged burn lines carved into the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling as her power lashed out uncontrolled, but every time her claws raked through me, they passed harmlessly through air. I micromanaged my intangibility with brutal precision, shifting only where I needed it, keeping her pinned and vulnerable.

Her eyes bulged as my grip around her chest tightened, fingers phased deep where no blade could ever reach. Sweat beaded down her temple, mixing with the froth gathering at the edges of her mouth. She convulsed slightly, body trembling, as my other hand pressed down on her shoulder to pin her down. I never imagined that squeezing a heart to death would take this much effort, but there I was, learning firsthand. Her heart felt fragile yet stubborn, beating frantically against my grip as though it could fight its way out of this inevitable end.

Sharpy’s power was always about precision, I thought coldly, watching her struggle. A unique energy she could release from sharp edges, capable of cutting through virtually anything… steel, concrete, even reinforced armor. Hence the name, Sharpy. But tricks and talent didn’t matter when the opponent was intangible. Against me, her cutting light meant nothing. It would’ve been a different story if she had her tinker-made gun, the one that amplified her edge a hundredfold and blast jagged projectiles. She might be physically tougher than your average mundane. However, without her powers, she was pretty much just prey to me.

A tacky ringtone broke the tense silence. Some overplayed pop track, cheerful and upbeat, jarring against the suffocating stillness of the room. I ignored it, kept my hand steady, and my grip unyielding.

Footsteps padded against the floor. Onyx walked away from her post near the door, scooped my smartphone from the coffee table, and answered the call, her tone sharp and biting as she walked back to me and set the phone on loudspeaker. “Who you? This is the Caldwell residence.”

The voice that came through the speaker was like ice over my spine. “It’s me. Crow.”

My head tilted slightly, surprise flashing for only a second before cold and focused rage settled deeper in my chest. Crow. One of Markend’s higher players. If he was calling me, it wasn’t for pleasantries.

“Name me your price,” Crow said smoothly. “I’ll claim Sharpy for myself.”

Now, that’s one suspicious coincidence.

My eyes didn’t leave her face. Her teeth clenched tight, her pupils blown wide with the primal terror of prey that finally understood its place. Unfortunately, Sharpy had already seen Onyx’s face. She knew too much. And that alone sealed her fate.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t hesitate. I let my power hum through my arm, endowing her heart with partial intangibility, just enough for me to interact in an intangible state. Then, with a deliberate, brutal pull, I ripped her heart clean from her chest.

Crow’s voice hissed through the speaker. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his tone laced with a quiet anger that made the hairs on my arms rise.

I stared at Sharpy’s limp body sprawled on the floor, her chest cavity empty where her heart should’ve been, blood seeping into the cracks of the floor tiles. My fingers twitched, still slick.

“And you,” I spat back, “shouldn’t be spying on me.”

Silence followed, tense and suffocating, broken only by Onyx humming in mock amusement as she idly kicked Sharpy’s discarded mask across the floor.

Crow’s actions had been utterly suspicious, I thought, jaw tight. The timing was too perfect. What were the odds that while I was in the middle of murdering Sharpy, Crow decided to call me? Not before. Not after. Right then. It was either one hell of a coincidence… or a very calculated move.

Crow’s voice softened, almost teasing now, but still edged with something sharp. “Well, at least,” he drawled, “you aren’t stupid.”

My teeth ground together as I asked, “What did you do?”

“Praytell,” he replied smoothly, feigning innocence, “what is it that I did?”

I didn’t answer right away. My reflection wavered in the dark stain beneath my feet, broken and distorted, as if mocking me for hesitating.

To confront him now would invite open hostility. And I couldn’t afford that. Not now. I already had Seamark breathing down my neck, Pride writing me on their shit list, and a growing list of people who wanted me dead. If I added the Murder of Crows to that pile, I’d be dead within the week. As for what Crow did? I couldn’t say. I have neither proof nor evidence. Just a gnawing gut feeling that he was sabotaging me, lining the chessboard for some game only he understood.

I exhaled sharply, forcing my voice to remain steady. “What’s your angle here, Crow?” I demanded, stepping away from Sharpy’s body. “You spy on me? You send me on these strange kill missions, giving me just enough publicity to paint me as some kind of vigilante, murderer of the wicked? What the hell are you playing at?”

The line went quiet. For a moment, I thought he’d hung up, until a low laugh spilled through the speaker, dark and amused.

“Angle?” Crow said. “No… not much of an angle, really. A road map.” He paused, as if savoring my confusion. “What do you think of talking face-to-face? Bring a plus one if you want to.”

I exchanged a glance with Onyx. She raised a brow, still cradling the shotgun like it was her favorite toy.

“Time and place,” I said flatly.

Crow didn’t hesitate. “How about this evening? Estrella Alta. Dinner’s on me. Seven o’clock sounds perfect.”